


The Purpose of Pain

by laneypenn



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Gen, how time flies, milo is four and sara is eight, the story of milos first serious injury, this was actually the first mml fic i started writing lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10184759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laneypenn/pseuds/laneypenn
Summary: In high school, some might've called Martin Murphy "standoffish" or "indifferent to death." But he had changed since high school - He had a family who he loved and cared for.  He was calm, collected. He'd never panicked when anything went wrong before.That might be a downside to having a family to love and care for, especially when it's his fault that his son even has to have this problem.





	

Martin Murphy never panicked.

He had been through his driver’s test and passed with flying colors because of how prepared he was for whatever came his way. His instructor was incredibly impressed, but it was really just how he did everything. He woke up in the morning everyday thinking about what could go wrong, thinking about what he had prepared for, compulsively checking everything to make sure he had prepared for it - Over and over and over he checked his bag to make sure everything was in order.

He had been through his public school life, which was mostly a lot of being accused of making things go wrong and then being ostracized for it, not really realizing how much he wanted a friend until he made one - Or, rather, she made him, with her constant wanting to hang out with him no matter how many hints he dropped that she should stay away. Brigette explained later that she didn't even notice that Martin was trying to push her away. _One_ of them clearly had social problems. He had been beaten up plenty of times for the sake of revenge for something going wrong for just about anyone. Martin wasn't an especially tough kid. He had never panicked then, though, mostly just dusted himself off or sat around making himself scarce.

He had been through his wedding, which had mostly been Brigette’s job, really, but he picked up things that would go wrong and fixed their plans accordingly. Their wedding went well, the only problems that occurred were easily fixed with barely any effort on the bride and groom’s part because of how prepared he was.

He had been through the first pregnancy Brigette had with their daughter Sara, with the nine months of reassuring her and her reassuring him and the relief of finding out that his first kid would be a girl (He wanted to have a boy at some point, but he needed to learn how to raise a “normal” kid before he could deal with the double trouble that raising _his_ son would make) and he had been prepared to get Brigette to the hospital on time to have a healthy birth.

Heck, he had gotten through Brigette’s second pregnancy four years later- This time with a cursed son and a premature birth with a cesarean section and literally everything that could go wrong- Well, you get the idea. He had gotten through it and, more importantly, Brigette and Milo got through it and their little family was blessed with a little (too small, did not weigh enough) boy who got stronger quickly as the days went by. Martin remembered the day when he and Brigette finally were able to take little Milo home and what Brigette had said, kissing Martin’s cheek. “See, he’s just like his father.” She had chuckled. “Recovers well.”

The point of these stories was that Martin was prepared, all the time, for anything that could go wrong. He didn’t panic because all panicking did was make things worse, he rarely worried, even. If anyone ever got hurt, it was Martin, and he knew how to deal with pain. He could almost always pick up some twinge of pain on his body if he tried - but pain was useful. Pain kept him from pushing his body too far to the point of death. Pain never really mattered, because he could handle something as insignificant as a broken bone with ease and he had a high tolerance. He could handle getting himself hurt, and nobody else ever got seriously hurt on Martin’s watch.

That is, until Milo was four years old.

* * *

 

It had seemed like a perfectly normal day. Brigette was out, doing some odd job while she was trying to figure out how to start her new career as an architect. Sara and Milo were playing in the backyard, some game where Sara ran around telling Milo what to do and Milo followed her slowly and bemusedly, holding Diogee’s leash to his chest and barely speaking while Sara excitedly explained that he’d play as one character and she’d be another and they’d act out some scene from a television show, he guessed. Sara loved to get into new shows and she always would get so deep into them that she would base everything she did off of these silly cartoons. It was cute, really.

Milo was more passive than his sister. He did what she told him to do while playing but his “acting” was much more stilted, because he obviously didn’t know what he was doing. He kept getting distracted by small things on the ground too, picking up rocks and putting them in his pockets and straying away from places Sara told him to stand just to space out at the ground until Sara scolded him and explained the rules of the game again. It was getting more and more obvious that Milo never listened to her entire spiel.

Sara was getting bored of Milo not playing along with her anyways, so she seemed to decide that they needed to do something new. “Alright then, Milo - If you’re not gonna play this game, then what are you gonna play?”

Milo blinked, was quiet for a second, then grinned and shoved his sister, yelled “Tag!” and ran across the backyard, laughing. Sara looked almost offended for a second, then grinned and chased after her brother.

Martin watched Milo and Sara running around tapping and tagging each other, using the tree in the yard as base. He chuckled lightly at how every now and then Sara could tag Milo and he could turn around and immediately tag her again, but she couldn’t keep up with him enough to retaliate whenever he tagged her. At some point, Milo had let go of Diogee’s leash and now the dog was curled up next to the lawn chair that Martin sat in. Martin didn’t actually notice the dog there until Milo was running towards base again and Diogee shot away from Martin and towards Milo, barking.

Milo’s hand hit the tree and, in some bizarre chain reaction, the bark cracked and a heavy, rotting branch fell.

* * *

It was odd. The timeline of who had realized that Milo would be hurt seemed to be Diogee first (What could he say, the dog could smell danger), Martin second (He could tell if something was going to break or fall fairly easily), Sara third (She yelped when the branch’s fall was cushioned by Milo’s face), and Milo last. He didn’t cry at all. Or scream. Or gasp, even. His first reaction after the fact seemed to be to just stare forward, his head crooked under the heavy branch with one arm outstretched underneath it as he was crushed down, laying on his stomach. The branch had knocked him down, hitting his head first and making him crumble to the ground, hurt but barely even noticing it, apparently. Martin was by his son’s side in a flash, unconsciously pulling out his phone and dialing 911 on instinct.

Milo still didn’t seem to realize that he was hurt until the ambulance came by - Well, that was actually probably wrong. Milo must have noticed he was hurt immediately when he got hurt, but he didn’t react to the pain until the tree was removed and he was being carried to the ambulance. Even then, he just furrowed his eyebrow looking at his crushed arm and said “Ow?” as if it was a question.

Martin and Sara had to go to the hospital in a different car, because they didn't have room in the ambulance for all three of them. Sara kept asking if Milo was gonna be okay, and the tears streaming down her face were making it really hard for Martin to look at her and say he'd be fine. He was sure he'd be fine. He had to be sure he'd be fine.

_Right?_

His breath quickened. The hospital was two minutes away.

* * *

When Martin got into the hospital, the receptionist seemed surprised that he wasn't hurt somehow. Martin and Sara were sent to the waiting room because Milo would be in the emergency room for now and, with Martin’s experience with the hospital, probably quite a while afterwards.

He needed to call Brigette and tell her what happened -

A tear streamed down his cheek.

He was surprised at the foreign feeling, and then even more surprised when he looked at the glass window beside him and noticed that his eyes were puffy and dark and his nose was red. Was this panic? This twisting feeling of fear that kicked Martin away from reality and kept him away from his own emotions for a while?

He needed to call Brigette.

Brigette answered after two rings, which was too long for Martin. She opened with a, “Hey, babe, what's up?”

Martin tried to calmly say that he was at the hospital because Milo had gotten crushed by the rotting branch on that _stupid_ tree in the backyard -

“Uh, Milo - He - He, he, crushed, the - the tree, hospi - hospital -”

Brigette had a concerned edge to her voice when she spoke again. “Martin? Talk to me, honey, are you okay? Is Milo okay?”

Martin nodded before realizing he was on a phone and switched to saying yes out loud. It was sort of a squeak, but a clear yes nonetheless.

“You're at the hospital? Because… Milo crushed a tree?”

“Tree crushed - crushed Milo.”

Brigette took a sharp breath, but Martin could tell she was trying to stay calm. “How is he? What happened? Just text me.”

And then she hung up on him so he could actually tell her something useful. His hands shook while he typed out, “Milo and Sara were playing tag, Milo touched the tree and a branch fell down on him. We're at the hospital waiting room and he's in the emergency room. He seemed like he didn't know he was hurt.”

Brigette texted back about a minute later, and Martin was getting angry about how slow time passed when he was feeling… Panicked? It was a new feeling and he disliked it.

“Stay calm, Marty. Milo will be fine. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Martin got up and paced, but Sara soon asked him, again, whether Milo would be okay or not. Martin tried as hard as he could to not let his doubt show through as he told her that Milo would be fine.

Time passed in a blur, somehow slow as hell but still fast; at some points it felt like he had been sitting down for an hour when only a minute had passed, and at some points it felt like a minute when it had been an hour. Martin looked over at Sara, who had at some point fallen fast asleep in the waiting room chair, and surprised himself with a shocking, desperate hope that _she_ would stay safe. He hadn't worried much about his family getting hurt before, but now…

His stomach twisted and another wave of panic hit him as he realized it had been five hours since Brigette had texted him, and he automatically wondered about the worst case scenario. Yes, that _would_ be the worst thing to happen to Martin at this point, if his wife had died somewhere on the road trying to come visit their injured son in the hospital and she just left him alone trying to raise two kids (or, goddammit all, _one_ kid) all alone -

He was glad that at this point, the room was practically empty except for Sara, who was asleep. He reached into his bag and grabbed a tissue to wipe the tears from his eyes again. He really, desperately didn't want anyone to see him cry.

So someone would walk in soon then, right? Things always went wrong for him, that was his condition. The worst case scenario was usually the first thing that would happen.

He quivered at the thought.

* * *

When Brigette finally made it to the hospital (she had gotten held back - joked about “Murphy's law” when she came in, but Martin didn't really want to hear it) she asked if he wanted her to take Sara and go home. Martin refused. He couldn't possibly handle not having her there to hold and make sure she was alright, and if she went home he would feel like she had died for the entire time he was still stuck waiting for Milo. Right now, he was already terrified that Milo could've died. He wouldn't be able to handle that.

Brigette sat down with Sara and pulled their sleeping daughter onto her lap. Sara's eyes fluttered open, then closed, then she was still and her shallow, slow breaths resumed. Martin counted them as Brigette started to rock in time with each breath. One… two… three…

Martin sat down with them and wrapped his arms around his girls, burying his face in the back of Brigette’s shoulder. Brigette started humming something and it calmed Martin down, now she was warm in his arms and she wasn't dead at this point, so hopefully she wouldn't die anytime soon.

They sat like that for a while until a doctor finally beckoned the family in.

“Milo Murphy. Heh, your son, huh, danger kid?” Martin wanted to scream. _Just give me the damn prognosis._

The doctor laughed at his own joke. Martin didn't really get it, but okay. “If we work fast enough, Milo's going to be okay. The tree struck him in the head, but his biggest problems are his neck was nearly fractured when it bent and his arm was broken in two places.” Martin swallowed. Was that good news? Anything close to a neck fracture didn't sound good.

“He'll have to take a couple weeks of recovery, but knowing _you_ he probably won't need too long, right?” The doctor laughed again, but Martin couldn't possibly find it in him to agree. He could recover easily from getting hurt, sure, but how much had Milo inherited that from him? Would he be able to recover? The doctor said that he had almost gotten a neck fracture. A life-threatening, spine damaging neck fracture. Martin may have broken his neck before, sure, (He fell out of his high-rise apartment back when he lived in the city - it wasn't that funny to most people around him, but Martin kind of found it hilarious because he had it coming living in such a place) but he had been lucky that time. Would Milo be lucky too?

Martin reached for Sara, in Brigette's arms, and took one of her little four-leaf-clover hair pins, handing it to the doctor and telling him to put it next to Milo's bed.

That was all he could do to calm himself down for now.

* * *

Milo was ready for visiting the next day. Martin, Brigette, and Sara went in together, but Sara started crying when she saw Milo laying there asleep, so Brigette took her out. Martin stayed with his son.

He stared warily at Milo. The child always was small, and he was only four years old, but something about the neck brace and the cast on his arm and the way he was sound asleep made it impossible for Martin to not think of him as his baby. That puny baby boy that was born far too early four years ago and needed special treatment to grow properly was back in front of him now. Martin felt like a failure of a father, not even able to keep his child from getting hurt when he was right there watching him.

Martin tried to think of how he would feel if this had happened to _him_ . He knew he wouldn't have reacted as fast as he did with Milo. He would've finished whatever he had been doing first, then he'd go home and _then_ he'd realize that he couldn't make use of his arm and his neck was hurting. He wouldn't have noticed a broken arm or a stressed neck on himself, but Milo had never been hurt like this before.

It probably wouldn't be the last time.

Martin wasn't a bitter man, but all of a sudden, he hated that thing that he could never change. EHML was part of himself and he knew it'd be part of his son too, so he had never hated it. He made a conscious effort to _not_ hate it most of the time. But something about the fact that his child had gotten hurt and it was because of this _stupid curse_ that no matter what, would haunt them for the rest of their lives…

He hated it. He hated Murphy’s law. He hated that he couldn’t pry his eyes away from his son lying inert in this hospital bed with his neck broken (It wasn’t broken, Martin, it was stressed, _it wasn’t broken -_ ) and his arm destroyed and goddammit, Martin could’ve stopped this from happening if he had just paid more attention -

Ah. The tear again.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hating this stupid crying thing that hadn’t bothered him since he was little, almost Milo’s age. His eyes burned and his vision blurred as they watered and he blinked, letting the droplets roll down his cheeks and land in his lap. He pressed his forehead to his hand, propping his head up on his elbow, and willed his breath to stay steady. All panicking did was make things worse, and -

“Dad?”

...And if Milo wakes up, he’ll see you cry.

Martin rubbed his face with his hands, shoving down all the pity and the fear he had for Milo’s state right now. He was going to appear _strong_ , and he was going to reassure Milo that things would be _alright_ , and he was going to do it _well_.

“What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” Milo’s voice was smaller than ever, hoarse and sleepy. His eyes were wide and the hospital lights reflected in them and Martin found his throat closing up again, dammit -

“No, Milo, I’m fine,” Martin swallowed the lump in his throat. “How’re you feeling?”

Milo looked at Martin thoughtfully and Martin understood the feeling - People would ask him how he was feeling when he woke up in the hospital too, and usually the only answer he could think of was something along the lines of “dead” or “nothing”.

Milo smacked his lips and replied, “Thirsty.”

Martin picked up a cup and a water bottle from his bag and filled the cup up, handing it to Milo to hold in his good hand. Milo didn’t reach out for a second and Martin saw him glance down at his broken arm and then reach out with his good arm. Martin understood that, too, forgetting you’re hurt and just trying to do things normally…

The problem was these were _Martin’s_ problems and _Milo_ was not supposed to have to deal with them. Milo was supposed to live his life and be able to move past EHML and end up happy with himself. Martin had lost his chance at a normal childhood, sure, but he was supposed to help Milo get one. It hurt to see him having to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Milo raised the cup to his mouth and drank what was in it, and Martin was glad he hadn’t filled it up all the way because with how fast he drank it he certainly would’ve thrown up if it had been any more. Milo lowered the cup and shifted his gaze to look back at his father, unable to move his neck and body. “What happened?”

“The tree fell down on you.”

Milo’s eyes widened. “The whole tree?”

“No, I mean… Just a branch. But it was a heavy branch.”

Milo tried to nod and Martin cursed the way his teeth gritted when he moved his neck just a little. “Was Sara crying?”

Martin jumped a little, because if Milo had been awake to hear Sara start crying then he had probably also been awake to hear Martin saying the f-word. “Just now?”

“No, when I got hurt.”

“Oh.” Martin tried to remember. It all felt so long ago…

“I don’t want her to cry. Tell her not to cry again, or I’ll hit her.” Martin was surprised at the threat of violence from Milo, as he had always been such a passive boy before, but suddenly he realized he knew this feeling too.

It had been in high school. Martin had been struck by lightning and it had been his first serious hospitalization in a long time. When he woke up in the bed, the first thing he saw was Brigette sitting in the chair next to him, her hair a mess, her face red, her clothes wrinkled… She was sobbing uncontrollably and his first reaction was to tell her to _shut up_ , just calm down and smile because it hurt so much more to see her crying than it had to have been struck by lightning.

Martin looked at Milo’s hand, gripping the hospital bedsheets like a vice. His tiny knuckles were white and his face was red and Martin realized he was holding his breath.

“I don’t wanna hit her, but…” Milo was shaking, too. He didn’t want people to worry about him. Scratch that, he wanted everyone to _not_ worry about him. “But if she cries again… I’ll be mad at her.”

Martin took a deep breath. _This goes for me, too, huh?_

Martin stared down at his hands. They were scarred, burnt and he had broken a lot of the bones in them at least once. But they were strong hands because of that. He was a strong _man_ because of that. He had to consider how different he would be if he hadn’t been hurt, bullied, and belittled so much. Would he be happy now?

Martin’s thoughts were interrupted with Milo’s tiny voice again. “You said before that we weren’t allowed to cry when you were in the hospital. So you and Sara aren’t allowed to cry now, neither.” Martin remembered what Milo was talking about, all of a sudden. He had gotten a concussion after a hard hat fell on his head and when Milo and Sara showed up on the verge of tears, Martin scolded them and told them the new rule, that they weren’t allowed to cry when he was in the hospital.

It wasn’t an actual rule so much as Martin really, really, _really_ hated seeing his children upset. So he had forgotten about it.

A part of him wanted to start crying again and scold Milo for not caring about his condition enough, but he knew two things. One, that would be the most hypocritical thing to do ever, and two, he had to look like a strong father right now more than ever. He wiped the tears out of his eyes.

“Alright.”

Milo smiled and Martin felt another pang of sadness at the sight, because Milo was too much like him in that he didn't seem to notice or care about his physical well-being and he was too much like Brigette in that he was so cheerful in the face of death.

“My arm is itchy ‘cause it's healing, right?”

Martin looked up at Milo, puzzled. “Probably not yet… It'll start itching at the knitting stage.”

Milo looked confused and Martin realized he had forgotten that not everyone knew as much about broken bones as he did again. Then Milo grimaced and his arm twitched. “Then it's probably ‘cause of the skeeter bites, then…”

This forced a small smile out of Martin and Milo smiled back again, like he was saying, “See, that wasn't too hard!”

Smiling _was_ hard, though. His chest ached and he wanted to start crying again, but he couldn't do that to Milo. Martin hadn't cared, when he was Milo's age, when anyone came into his hospital room and cried (the first time he had that feeling was with Brigette and the lightning) but Milo clearly didn't want anyone worrying about him.

He, as a father, should at least _try_ to respect his wishes.

“Does your neck hurt?”

“...Yeah.”

“It's going to hurt more whenever you start the physical therapy, but it's going to feel much better afterwards.”

“I shouldn't move it much yet ‘cause it might fract-turr my spine… I think.”

“Hmm… Well, it might hurt your neck more but I don't think you'll fracture your spine just by moving.” _But hey, we do have EHML…_

Milo looked at Martin again with just his eyes and Martin tried to push the hateful thought towards himself away. Self-hatred spread to others, and he didn't want his children to be hurt by his own shortcomings.

“Daddy, why are you sad?”

“What? I'm not.”

“Yes you are.”

Well, can't argue with that logic. “It's been a long day, Milo…”

“Are you mad at me?”

Martin's eyes widened at the question. That was such a ridiculous assumption -

But he was mad at himself. Milo probably caught onto his anger.

Goddammit.

Martin sighed and Milo squeaked, which made him more mad at himself. “No, I'm just… Upset with myself. I wasn't able to -” Martin stopped talking. If he spoke more he'd start crying again.

Milo stared at him and Martin looked away, not wanting to upset himself more by looking at him with the neck brace and cast on his arm.

“Th’t’s not a good reason.” Martin looked up again and Milo was looking at him with his eyebrow quirked like he was confused. “You can't be mad at yourself. If you don't have a good reason.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Then what's the good reason to be mad at yourself?”

Milo looked up for a moment, deep in thought. He blinked, and his eyes shifted back to Martin. “Telling Sara she can drink some of your soda ‘n then she drinks all of it. That's when to be mad at yourself.”

Martin snorted, fighting back his laughter before Milo grinned at him and he couldn't anymore. He laughed, pressing his palm to his forehead and using his other hand to wipe the tears from his eyes as his emotions started getting confused on this rollercoaster he was putting them through. He buried his face in his hands and half-laughed and half-sobbed.

He heard Milo's concerned voice ask him why he was crying again, and a slightly more scared addition that he still wasn't allowed to cry right now. Martin tried to calm down for his son’s sake, but the crying ached painfully in the back of his throat and it just hurt too much to try to stop.

“It was s’posed to be funny, Daddy…”

“I-it was, Milo. I’m fine.” Martin’s words were muffled by his hands as he rubbed his face again, hiding it from his son. Why did he have to feel like this?

“Don't cry,” Milo stated like it was a command, and Martin just let out a broken laugh at his son trying to boss him around. He didn't dare to pull his hands away from his face.

It was pretty funny though, how Milo was irritated at him for caring. It was an emotion that was easy to understand.

Milo whacked Martin on the head with his good hand. Martin looked up immediately at his son pouting at him angrily. “You're breaking the rule!”

Martin laugh-sobbed again. “Sorry, Milo - I’m not meaning to.”

Milo kept pouting and crossed his good arm over his broken one, which wouldn't move. “You know… I know s’mthin’ s’meone told me once.”

Martin raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “Oh, yeah?”

“He said, ‘Ya can't stop stuff from happenin’, but ya can't dawell on what goes wrong… ‘n stuff.’”

Martin pressed his palm to his forehead, knowing those were his own paraphrased words that Milo was throwing back at him just to prove a point. “I feel like that's not an exact quote, bud.”

Milo grinned. “Then what's the exact quote?”

“Things’ll go wrong… and you can't stop it, but if you keep dwelling on what's going wrong then you'll never be able to help who's affected.” Martin made a motion at Milo to indicate that the “who's affected” referred to him.

Milo missed that, and said tentatively, “And?”

Martin sighed. “ _And_ … I guess there's a reason we feel pain.”

“‘Cause if we don't, we'll get more hurt!”

“Uh… Generally speaking, yes.” Milo grinned and Martin wiped his eyes and smiled back. “We need to feel pain so we don't hurt our bodies or push them to the point of death. I remember this talk now.”

It was when Milo was even younger - he had skinned his knee and cried, and Martin told him that.

He didn't really expect him to take it to heart. The thought that Milo still remembered things he told him a year or two ago… It was a bit of pressure, but he had always expected that fatherhood would put pressure on him.

Milo smiled and yawned without moving his neck, and Martin noticed that his eyes were heavy. The opioids must be kicking in.

Martin sighed contentedly and Milo sleepily reached out to him with his good arm. Martin took his hand and his son closed his eyes, his breathing slowing down as he drifted off.

Martin looked at the sleeping boy, smiling at him fondly. He'd never realized that someone could be affected by him and the things he said - He'd never been affected by anyone but himself, really.

Well, except Brigette and his kids.

Martin leaned in and kissed the top of Milo's head, then put his hand back down by his side and got up to leave the hospital.

Everything would be fine. Milo would be okay.


End file.
